Hack
by ThomE.Gemcity-06
Summary: For TRAINSPOTTING / Essence Series: 1/2 / Mates are like a bad habit that needs to be broken, because if you can't be yourself with your mates, then who the f**k were you?


**a/n: Essence series.**

 **Summary:** Mates are like a bad habit that needs to be broken, because if you can't be yourself with your mates, then who the fuck were you?

 **Includes: Trainspotting spoilers, Mark POV, Mild Violence.**

 **- TRAINSPOTTING** **-**

* * *

 **Hack**

Ah got careless. Ah'd been awey in London fir months now, oanly huving tae think aboot maself, that Ah forgot whae Ah wis supposed tae be whin Ah was wi ma so-called mates. So whin Francis fucking Begbie showed up at ma door wi a stuffed holdall n replica revolver, it wis a struggle tae revert back tae 'Rent Boy', Franco's doss flunky.

Ah'd shed that skin whin Ah got clean n took Diane's advice: _get oot ay thair, start new_. Ah'd grown in ma absence, changed. N now it wis like trying tae shove maself back intae that auld, dry, brittle skin that Ah'd shed. It wis ill-fitting, flaking awey wi every breath. We just didnae belong any mair. Ah desperately tried tae keep it thegither; fucking glue, scotch tape. Ah needed the armour ay Rent Boy tae protect the Mark Renton. They were different. They hud tae be. Ah couldnae be him, could Ah?

If ye couldnae be yirself wi yir mates, then whae the fuck were ye? If everybody wis themselves, if we just acted oan oor impulses, weren't feart—would any ay it really change? Hate crimes, murder, cheating, arrest numbers... if everyone didnae conform tae the standard, would the world be a better place?

Personally, Ah think we're all too fucking afraid tae even attempt it, even if it wis the best thing fir us. History shows that we clearly do no want whit's best fir us. We just daenae fucking care.

Ma ain unaware experiment oan the thesis just went tae prove ma point. Ah didnae think aboot it, didnae remember that Ah wis talking tae Begbie, Ah just said whit Ah wis thinking, feeling, _ma_ ain opinion:

"Let's face it. It could huv been wonderful." That wis the truth, Ah felt. Begbie didnae agree.

He hud no been expecting tae hear _ma_ opinion, just his reflected back at him. Ye agreed wi him, n ye better believe in whit yir agreeing wi him fir n he better believe that ye fucking believe—or it's the discipline ay the bat fir ye. That wis Franco, empowered by his ain story—the stories _we_ told. N weren't we all just the stories cunts told?

Shedding Rent Boy n growing intae Mark Renton, Ah'd done things in London Ah would never huv let maself do or think back in Edinburgh. It wis fucking liberating, tae huv nae yin tae sneer at ye fir doing something ye simply wanted tae try. That ye thought wis interesting.

Ah didnae even mean him getting wi a transvestite, just him doing something oot ay his comfort withoot the response ay hate n violence. Tae expand himself, shed his ain skin. Get oot ay the fucking roondaboot ay the life he set fir himself. Calm doon, fir fuck sake! Why do cunts alweys get so wound up aboot change? Looking at things, could it really be all that bad?

But the stinging burn fae the fag flicked at ma cheek, is a stamp that says Ah should huv kept ma liberal opinions tae maself. The strong fingers coated in the innumerable blood ay fellow victims clamped aroond ma scrawny throat, is just another benefactor tae the odious retort tae anything the wee bit upsetting tae Begbie's beliefs ay himself.

"Fucking listen tae me, ye junkie piece ay shite! A joke's a fucking joke. Ah'm nae bufty n that's the end ay it. Ye mention it again n Ah'll cut ye up. Ken?" his favourite flick knife finds itself embedded intae the plaster ay the wall, wey too close tae ma baws fir any comfort. "Understand?"

Ah nod as best yin kin wi their heid pinned against the wall by their throat. Best no tae speak, even if Ah could, n just let the animal see the fear reflected in ma eyes tae his satisfaction. Thair will alweys be fear whin it comes tae Francis Begbie, a rightly placed sentiment.

Why did he even tell us, is the real question here. If he hudnae, Ah would never huv kent. N if he wisnae looking tae be judged, even silently, why? But if ye cannae tell yir mate, whae kin ye? They say ye cannae choose yir family, which is true enough. But ye do choose yir mates n that says a hell ay a lot aboot ye. Just look at mine n that should tell ye all ye need tae ken. A psycho, a scammer, a dreamer. Whit the fuck did that make me?

The buzzer rang. Utter silence but fir Begbie's cross breath, his puffs hot n moist wi evil against ma skin. Ah held ma ain breath, feart that he still might cut oaf something vital at the slightest provocation. Ah wis waiting tae see if it wis the cunt at ma door. Ah daren't even flinch whin they pounded oan it next.

But tae ma surprise n relief, a second later, Franco pulled the knife, flicked it closed n pocketed it, n sent us stumbling tae the door. "Git the fucking door, Rent Boy, before some cunt gits nosey."

Ah answer the door in socks, keks, n a shirt. Ay all cunts oan earth, it happens tae be fucking Sick Boy; a holdall tossed over his shoulder, in atan long coat, crisp white dress shirt.

He looks us up n doon wi that superior little curl tae his lips. "Wow, Rents, dae ye still no huv an ounce ay self-respect?" N he pushes passed us. "Eh, Franco." He nods tae the man as he tosses his bag oantae the bed.

Ah slam the door n turn tae him as he makes himself right at home in ma bed-sit as easily as Franco did. "Whit the fuck are ye daeing here?" Ah demand. "How'd ye even ken whir Ah live?" it's the question Ah didnae huv the courage, or did huv the self-preservation, tae no ask Begbie.

"Franks gave us a call." He looks aroond the place, small n littered fae Franco's company, wi a distasteful cluck. "Definitely no a step up fae yir auld flat, Rents." _Mibby no, but it's a step awey fae ye... or at least Ah thought it wis._ "Gie us a beer, yeah? The trip ower wis complete pish." He takes up residence oan the bed wi Franco.

Ah get yin fir Simon n Begbie too because Ah'm a good host, n take yin maself, which Ah pretend tae drink, the last thing Ah want tae do is lower ma mental competency whin aroond these two dangerous punters, both in their ain way. Sick Boy regales us wi his plans ay gaining 'contacts' doon here fir the great skag deal that wis going tae make him rich. Ah dinnae believe a fucking word ay it.

…

Sick Boy must huv developed telepathy while Ah've been awey here, n is communicating wi his contacts via that wey 'cos he leaves ma place as frequently as Franco. At least Begbie hud a reason fir no going oot. Sick Boy's whole purpose ay being here wis tae go oot, which wis the yin thing he dinnae seem tae do.

Instead, they take over ma place, make unreasonable demands, make us their errand boy, n all the while Ah go tae work all day n come back tae them, forced tae kip in the middle ay my ain bed between their stinking feet, all the finical support coming oot ma ain pocket—n Ah'm at ma tit's end wi the both ay them!

Ah didnae come here, break awey fae them, oanly fir them tae come n haunt us back. But should Ah really huv expected anything less wi these cunts as mates? They huv tae fucking go or something's guanny happen that will get us intae a world ay pain that Ah dinnae want tae contend wi.

So Ah stick them in the worst place in the world; a flat that Ah'd been trying tae rent fir ages. Rent free fir them n oot ay ma fucking hair! Ah just toss Begbie the keys before either ay them kin say anything n slam the door.

Turns oot the worst place in the world is a godsend.

As soon as Ah get back tae ma bed-sit, thair's a trash bag in hand n Ah clean every trace ay ma mates oot; opening the window n air oot the stench ay stale beer n fag smoke, ay unwanted visitors. Once done, Ah flop oan ma bed, do fucking snow angels in the tangled sheets.

Ah am alone again n it's beautiful.

...

It's long after that Diane gies us a call: Tommy's deid. It's time tae go back home. It's no like thair's a job tae hold us in London any more, no after ma boss found Sicks n Baggars hiding oot in that flat fae hell. Perhaps Ah'd just been setting maself up fir disappointment fae the kick oaf. It's usually oorselves whae destroy us.

Tommy's funeral just goes tae show us why Ah intend tae stay clean. Thank fuck fir ma folks locking us in ma auld room n making me go cold-turkey whin they did or it might huv been us in the groond. As it is, Ah ken Ah'm practically responsible fir this. Ah stole Tam's sex tape, Ah set him off in search fir the braw fix ay his life, Ah fucking gave him his first shot ay heroin.

Whit are we if no oor pasts, n whit are oor pasts if no the people? If the people fae oor pasts are all gone tae ground, do oor pasts still exist if nae yin is thair tae mind them?

...

Swanney's place is empty ay junkies n cleaned. He'd ended up in the hozzie while Ah wis in London, lost his fucking leg shooting up in his arteries. Surprised it wisnae his knob. We end up thair after the funeral fir a roond n apparently privacy whir Ah wis ambushed.

Evidently, Simon wis no the idle waster Ah thought him. He did come across a skag deal that would do him fir life—or as Ah wis made tae understand it: _all_ ay us. Me, Sick Boy, Begbie, n Spud. Via the fucking doss cunt Mikey Forrester.

"Whit the fuck ur ye aw oan?" Ah gie an incredulous laugh, sketching at them all. "Mikey Forrester, Russian Sailors? Ye cannae be serious. We just came fae Tommy's funeral!"

"Aye." Begbie said wi his predisposed aggro disposition, taking a step towards us.

It wis a clear warning. So Ah asked the question that wis demanded ay me n by the end ay the picture the story fae here wis clear. Ah either fork over all the savings in ma account, all 2 grand ay ma hard-earned dosh (it hud been significantly heavier before those cunts crashed ma new life), or they would beat us tae shite n take it anywey.

Ah shouldnae huv come back. Why the fuck did Ah come back tae this black hole ay existence? It looked like Ah wis stuck in the scrapes ay Rent Boy, like fucking glitter oan ma skin.

...

The thought slipped intae ma consciousness n Ah didnae banish it. Ah cultivated it, Ah nurtured it. Ah gave it water, sunlight. Ah let it fucking bloom!

Ah wis the oanly yin whae could be trusted tae do the proper thing wi this money. These cunts would just fucking waste it. Bevvy, whores, skag. But me, Ah could see the whole world ahead ay me, within ma reach—if Ah hud this poppy…

Ah wis sick ay being the lost boy.

Ah would claw Rent Boy fae ma skin. Ah would grow again. More. Better.

N so Ah did—wi no a backward glance.

Ah wisnae going tae end up like Francis Begbie, living in the past.

Ah wisnae going tae settle fir day-by-day like Sick Boy, conning everyone, even himself.

Ah wisnae going tae be like Spud Murphy, stuck wi dreaming ay the future.

Ah will end up as Tommy, yin day, but no _like_ him—whin Ah'm auld n fucking ready.

Ah wis ready tae truly become whae Mark Philip Renton wis destined tae be. A new life, a proper life. Ma future. N 16 grand wis just the sort ay start Ah needed. If Ah couldnae be whae Ah wis meant tae be wi ma so-called mates, then Ah wis just going tae huv tae find someone whae Ah could be wi.

Amsterdam seems a good place as any tae start!

 _f_

 **-** **TRAINSPOTTING** **-**

 **There will be a companion piece set it T2 Trainspotting, keep an eye out for: H2 Hack.**


End file.
